The Search for the Sacred Tree: How it all Began
by ObsidianInari
Summary: Original characters, original storyline, original story. I created this myself, it's my story. The characters and the plot were all created by me. So if you want a FanFic, this isn't one. Just want to let you know that. Summary inside.
1. Chapter 1

Search for the Sacred Tree: How it all Began.

Fighting for a choice in a world she does not belong, Starlight has just begun to get her life in order. A striving business, a best friend and her own house, all the things she would never dreamed she would have she now had. However, on the opening night of her second business, it all falls apart when _he _walks in.

Known as the assassin of the Demons, Zaien Pyrox Lightning has been hired to kill her. But Zaien is only an assassin when he deems it worthy a cause, so when he is lied to, he decides to investigate the girl he was hired to kill and find the reason someone wished her dead. Drawn against her will into a journey to find her true home, Starlight has lost control of her life, something she desperately fought for. The journey has been set into motion and nothing will change that.


	2. Chapter 2

Prologue.

* * *

><p>He kept to the shadows, moving stealthily. His job simply required him to be himself. Silent, quick, mysterious and efficient. Throw in a ruthless streak and a few psychotic twinges and his job was perfectly suited to his personality.<p>

The buildings seemed to endlessly merge into one another and he stalked quickly through the town to the small place he kept there. His house, three stories high, four, including basement, was beige color. It was noticeable only for size. The color and model blended into the town. Like the other houses, there was little to no lawn, but there was a built-in garage.

The front door was white. Beyond that door lay a white, immaculate hallway. The hallway led to a small living room. Furnished with a white leather couch, 62in flat screen television, clear-glass coffee table and white end tables. Small, white sconces decorated all four walls.

An open archway led deeper into the hour, to the kitchen. The kitchen took up half the downstairs. The other half was used up by the library and living room. Pristine, white, immaculate, the kitchen had perfect white cabinets, a large white stove and refrigerator, white glassy chairs and a glass and gilt table that sat atop perfect white glassy tiles.

The white door, across the archway, led to the library. Filled with white wood bookcases, the library was two stories high. A spiral white-glass-gilt staircase led to the second level of bookcases, where a wraparound indoor balcony circled the walls, holding the bookcases and a white and glass door.

That door led to the sitting room, where he conducted his business. The plush, white carpeting and white walls were as bright and clean as the soft, white chairs. Six chairs and two loveseats did little to fill the large room. This room was the deepest most ever got in his house. And some never left it alive. Nevertheless, it was still pristine.

On the far wall, facing east was a fake window. Installed after he moved into the house, it looked out upon the small backyard and the back of the house behind his house. It looked real, but when pushed with his strength, it folded up, up, until it was parallel to the ceiling.

Hidden behind that window was his real bedroom. Black, plush carpet, crimson curtains over the two windows, a black stone armoire, a black wood door, a black and, pushed to the side, a huge four-poster bed. The bed's thin, silk blankets were black on one side and crimson on the other. The two pillows were black with one, round centered crimson pillow. The posters of the bed and the headboard and footboard were stone. From the posters a gauzy crimson curtain hung.

He crept up the library stairs, thought the sitting room and to the window. Black gloved hands pressed to the window and he pushed against the window. The glass shivered and pressed inward, up and up until it was fully open. He stepped over the bottom of the window and into the room, pushing the window shut behind him, latching it.

Beyond that black door lay his armory. Most with his job preferred guns, but what could a gun do that his blades couldn't? Blades were faster, more efficient. More painful. He could play with his prey more with a sword that anyone could play with a gun. And bombs? Who was _that _cowardly? Hm. He would much prefer to go in and use a blade or his hands, not a gun or a bomb.

Therefore, inside that room, all four walls were covered in blades. Swords, scythes, twin blades, double-bladed swords, triple-bladed swords, quadruple-bladed swords, double-edged swords, reverse swords, throwing swords-all kinds of blades covered those walls.

He stripped his eight-foot-long sword from his back, set it upon the bed and knelt to pull the case from under the bed. He set that sword, his new favorite sword, inside the case reverently. That sword was new, designed by a new weapon shop that called itself "Weapons of Star." One each weapon, which were _all _bladed weapons, no guns, there was "WOS" on the hilt. Started and owned by a woman and man, it was rumored. Designed primarily by a woman. He had just bought this sword a few nights ago. Most people that bought weapons from that store had to take classes, but he had bypassed that by showing he was a certified martial artist and a certified swords master.

Hell, he'd better be. He'd been practicing for well over a thousand years. He had certificates from all the best masters-not because he furthered his training. Hell no, he did not have to do that. No. Only because when you buy swords from up here, you needed a certificate for the best stores. So every century or so, he went to the new "best" master and faked through a six-month class, ten-, twenty-, or twelve-year class and got the damn certificate.

For the first time in a long time, he was glad he made the effort. This new weapon shop didn't allow you to buy a damn thing, not even a tiny throwing knife, without taking a class from the owners or having a certificate. And he had to admit, that was a very good thing, what with the weapons they sold being especially dangerous. He'd heard talk that this shop produced the most dangerous and high-tech weapons available, so he'd had to try it out. He was glad he did.

The sword he bought was eight feet long. It came with a back sheath, a side sheath and a case. At the middle of the black hilt was a finger-scanner. If he pressed his thumb to it for three seconds, the hilt sprouted two upraised areas with holes facing the way the blade did. The finger scanner was just above those upraised areas. If he pressed his thumb to it a second time for three seconds, throwing knives shot out of the holes. The hilt was hollow, though it didn't feel like it, and the throwing knives were replaceable. Right now, he had six throwing knives in the hilt.

If he pressed his thumb to the finger scanner for five seconds, (there was a beep marking each second, so five beeps for five seconds, three for three,) a three-foot blade shot from the top of the hilt. If he pressed his thumb to it for seven seconds, a small hole opened up and out fell small spikes.

The sword was like his boots, the ones he'd designed, but just a bit safer. You couldn't activate any of the secret spots by accident. The beeps and the finger scanner made sure of that. His boots could be activated by accident. On the back of each boot was a button. If the left button was pushed, a small, six-inch blade shot out of the toe of each boot. If the right one was pushed, a six-inch blade shot out of the heels. And there was a twisty button on the bottom of each boot. When twisted just right, dozens of spikes added about an inch to his already impressive height. Useful for climbing or fighting.

So he did really like the sword. It matched him. Looked dangerous. Was actually deadly.

He stripped his thick, leather, high-collared cloak off. It fell to the ground with the sound that only really good leather makes. It took much practice to move silently in a leather cloak, especially one like that, but he had had a very long time to perfect the art. The black silk, long-sleeved shirt fell to the ground next. The leather, thigh-high boots and black leather pants came off last, leaving only the silk black boxers.

His skin, lightly tanned, stood out against the blackness of the room. Thick, long black hair fell in careless locks around his face, just slightly passed his chin. Hair so black, it gleamed blue in the right light. Black, slanted eyes, blacker than night itself, sat under black, sardonically arched eyebrows. Those eyes gleamed in the absence of light. Black holes looked gray compared to the black of his eyes. Thick, long black lashes framed those eyes, both upper and lower. High, sharp cheekbones sat on each side of a strong, straight nose. Square, angular jaw and slightly triangular chin made for an angular, ethnic face.

One thing ruined, or made, that face. Red, full, feminine lips. Lower lip slightly fuller than the upper, giving him a perpetual pout. This face was one men desired and women lusted for. The face one would think an Angel should have.

But no. This devilishly handsome face was just that. Devilish. It belonged to a Demon. The youngest son of the Demon Lord of the First District.

This particular Demon was much older than he appeared. His body, leanly muscled, long, taut, was the body of a twenty-year-old man. Lean, yet thick with muscle, he had a lightly tanned, almost perfect body. A few scars marred the perfection.

In the lower part of his abdomen, left side, right where abdomen became hip, there the scars began. Two inches long, diagonal, from an inch below and beside his naval, to the front of his hip, right below where abdomen became hip was the first scar on his torso. His left side, from two inches above his hip, to the place under his arm, there was another one.

Over his left, upper chest was another scar. Cutting a small bit into his areola, it was an inch in length. Just a small stab wound. Two inches to the left of his naval, an inch above, was another scar. It ended just an inch below his areola. One more scar curled around his left shoulder.

But his back was worse. Covered in long, thin scars, dozens, one atop the other.

There was only one scar he did not mind. Right under his lower lip was a tiny scar, less than a centimeter, longer than a millimeter. Very small, hardly noticeable unless he bit his lower lip with his sharp, slightly curved teeth.

He pushed the case under the bed and climbed under the silk covers. Sleep would come easily. Two hours, three at most and he would be ready to begin another day. By 8:00, he would be wide awake. Ready to playact the perfect neighbor once more. A few more days of this and he would probably leave for a "business trip" for a time. By now, these people knew he was rarely home. A traveling sales man, they thought he was.

A small chuckle. Of a sort, yes.

For he was an assassin.

* * *

><p>Ringing. Incessant ringing! What the <em>fuck <em>was ringing? He sat up, silk blanket sliding down his chest. Was that the doorbell? Or his phone? The ringing stopped for a few minutes only to start up again. Ah. The doorbell.

He went to the window, pushed with his incredible strength and the window opened. A moment after straightening it, he went to his fake room, on the other side of his sitting room. The room he kept the clothes he wore around the people here. White walls, white carpet, white armoire and a white, king-sized bed. Even with a fake room, he had to have a big bed. After all, six feet and six inches didn't fit on most beds.

He opened the armoire, pulled out a light blue tee and loose blue jeans, dressing quickly. Running a hand through his thick hair, he slowly made his way to the library, down the stairs and to the front door. Hell, if they wanted him to hurry that was their fault. Not his. Five or six more rings later, he was opening the door. "Yes?" he inquired. His voice was low, smooth, deep. A perfect, rolling bass.

Betsy, the woman next door, stood there, smiling, with a wine bottle in her hand. She was a comely woman, with long brown hair and emerald huge green eyes. Nice, toned legs and a long waist made her tall. A medium bust and full lips colored with red lipstick. She wore an orange sundress that just barely covered her ass. "Hi, Greg," she chimed. His girlfriend here. Well, _she _thought she was his girlfriend. "I'm so glad you're back!" She hugged him.

Over her head, his scowl went unnoticed and he checked the clock on the wall behind him. 7:30. Damn. What the hell had she been doing? Watching the house? He hugged her back, face changing to a smiley, happy man. "Hey, Betsy, sweetheart. How are you?"

She beamed happily up at him. "I've missed you." She strolled passed him, into his house. Like _she _owned his house. "Come on, let's celebrate your return."

He closed the door, concealing a sigh of annoyance. Well, at least her celebration would include getting a little drunk and fucking. "Kitchen?" he guessed.

"No, bedroom, I'd think." She winked at him. "I mean, you've been gone so long. You've probably missed a woman's touch."

Ah, no, not really. He had girls all over that liked giving him the "woman's touch." But fine, let her think whatever she wanted. He never told her they were exclusive. He wasn't even sure she thought they were. After all, neither of them had ever brought up that subject.

He hid his scars from her using Glamour Magick. She'd always just seen what he'd wanted her to see. An edited, unscarred version of him. He wondered bleakly what she'd do if she saw those monstrous things. Probably walk away.

Knowing the way to the white bedroom by heart, she pulled him, laughing, up to that room. "Come on, Greg," she said huskily, rising up on tiptoe to press her mouth to his neck. She slipped out of that dress-such an ugly thing-and stood nude before him.

* * *

><p>He let her lay there for a minute-then the annoying ringing started up. He pushed her to the side. "Be right back," he said, going to the armoire. Hell, if someone was at the door now, they'd have to settle for his robe. He wasn't putting his clothes back on until he'd had a shower. He pulled the white, fluffed, long robe off the hook on the armoire door and slipped it on, tying the rope loosely.<p>

She sighed. "Really, Gregory? Must you answer the door now?"

"Yes. If someone took the time to press that damn button, it's usually business." He left her there, making his way slowly to the front door. When he pulled it open, a man stood there. "Business?" he guessed.

"Business, Demonicus."

He stepped aside. "We'll have to talk in the living room." He walked to the living room, sat on the white plush chair. "Onai seti nis." _I have a guest. _

"I'll be discreet. Here's your mark. Choose it or no." The short, pudgy little man held out a rather fat envelope.

He took it. "I'll look it over." He stood. "Now, if you don't mind, Jiut . . . ?"

Jiut stood. "I apologize for interrupting your little party, Z. Bye."

Not watching to see if he'd leave-he knew he would-he hurriedly went up his stairs.

And found Betsy standing there, nude, frowning. "Again, Greg? But you just got home!"

"Can't be helped. You should get dressed."

"But you don't _have _to go, do you?"

"I might have to go. Betsy, I have to at least look over the information."

"Can't I stay?"

He resisted the urge to growl. "If you stay in the bedroom."

She nodded and flitted off back to the bedroom.

He decided to go downstairs. There was a desk in his library. Only a few seconds later, he was looking through the contents of the envelope.

The first papers to fall out were papers. He set those aside, found the information page, and read.

Height: 4'10 ½.

Weight: 90lbs.

Age: 19.

Hair Color: Silver.

Eye color: Silver.

Skin: White.

Leg Length: 36in.

Hips: 32in.

Bust: 30in.

Waist: 24in.

Species: Witch and Demon Halfling.

Reason to kill: Because she's a Halfling.

He scoffed. "I don't need _this _kind of information. Idiots." The pictures that were there were of her, of course.

Long, silver hair with silver, long-thick-lashed eyes, upper and lower lashes full and black. Her cheekbones were high, nose slightly upturned. Jaw and chin delicate, yet angular, giving her an ethnic, almost Native American look. Her hair fell into her face, as if she was hiding behind it, but she had one hand up to brush it back. Silver brows arched over her eyes. Her skin was white as snow. And her lips were crimson. A dark crimson, like slightly dried blood. Not a bright crimson. Full, with the lower lip being fuller than the upper.

At first, he thought she was sticking out her lower lip in a pout, but on further inspection, he saw that she wasn't even aware the picture had been taken.

"Greg?"

Her voice made him jump. Shit, he'd been so intent on his work he hadn't heard her come down. "Yes?" He looked up from his work, to her.

She was standing excessively close. She could see the girl. "W-who is that?" she asked, eyes wide, worried.

"My next customer."

She stared at him. "C-customer for what, Greg?"

He sighed. "Look, it's my _job. _I don't have to explain myself."

"But-"

He stood. "I'm sorry, Betsy, but you have to go and I have to get ready for work." He gathered the papers up, tapped them against the desk and put them in the envelope.

"Greg?"

He walked toward her, bent and brushed his lips across her brow. "I've got to go and so do you. I'll see you next time I'm in town." Probably not for another few months. Hopefully. . . .


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter One.

The ball was finally tonight. Goddess, I was so nervous. This was the night when my idea of fashion would debut. I was so nervous, yet so excited.

The ball had five rooms. The middle and biggest room was where everyone would gather to dance. The left two rooms were for the women. One room was the divided into 250 sections where each individual woman is pampered, dressed and made-up for the ball. The other room was the bathroom for the women. The two right rooms were for the same things, but for men. There were hired professionals that would choose the best way to highlight each person's individual beauty. And, yes, there were plus-sized gowns and suits. How could I _not _make plus-sized clothing? And all who came tonight would take their gown or suit with them, if they wished it.

There would be 500 people here tonight, not including myself, Eiiannae and Mike. Eiiannae was my business partner and best friend. Mike was Eiiannae's boyfriend.

It was going to be a very long and tiring night, but I was looking forward to it.

I designed every single article of clothing. This whole thing was paid for by my other designing business; I designed weapons. Not all weapons, just things with blades. "Weapons of Star."

My gown, like al gowns, reached the floor, flowing gently like silver colored foam over the floor, the way oriental silk is meant to. It hugged my torso to my waist. The V-neck bodice was low-cut, but frilly ruffles kept it from being revealing. The gown clung to my hips, where it fell to pool at my feet. It flared and twirled around my legs with every step. Silver in color, it gleamed beautifully and matched my coloring. The sleeves fell to my wrists, cinched in there and flared out around my hands.

My long, silver hair was pulled up into a complicated, spiral bun. Two long strands hung on either side of my face in spiral curls. Glitter had been sprinkled over my hair. White eye shadow and clear, sparkly mascara made my eyes stand out even more. My eyes probably were my best feature. Silver, upturned, with long, thick, black lashes that framed my eyes. My lashes were even longer than they appeared because half of them were black while the last half of them were silver, making them look half the length that they actually were.

Silver brows arched over my eyes. My nose was small, upturned, framed by high cheekbones. Delicate, yet slightly squared jaw and triangular chin made for an unusual, exotic face. Even without the strange colors. Or lack thereof, actually. There was one thing about me that wasn't colorless. Crimson lips. Hated them. Hated the way I looked. I was white, silver or crimson. I mean, come on. Who, in my age group, had _silver _hair?

I got strange looks walking down the street. The last place I lived, someone threw a flaming rag drenched in gasoline through my window. Nearly killed me. If I were a normal human-because, whatever I was, face it, I wasn't human-it would've killed me. And walking down the road, I've had crosses made at me or thrown at me.

Back to business. . . . Or dancing, whatever. They were filling in now. Hundreds of girls, 2.5 of them, to be exact, had huge smiles. Fat girls, skinny girls, plain girls, even the so-called "ugly" girls looked beautiful. Men, 250 of them, looked smug and handsome. All sizes, all looks, everyone looked beautiful. Women twirled in their gowns. Men strolled around looking extremely pleased, even cocky.

Eiiannae was moving around, talking to people. He looked very dashing in his suit, designed by me, of course. His crimson, water-silk, long-sleeved had a high, stiff collar. At the bottom of the collar was a drawstring. Over that shirt was a sleeveless, black stiff vest. The V-neck of the vest showed that he had the shirt tied shut. Crimson silk pants and black dress shoes completed the outfit. He'd slicked back his brown hair. He waved at me, smiling, and his boyfriend smiled at me.

I beamed, waving enthusiastically. The music came on. Most people instantly chose a dancing partner. Some nervously walked around until a man or woman asked them to dance. I weaved in and out, telling each person they looked beautiful or handsome and moving on.

Something in my peripheral vision caught my attention. I turned my head, eyes immediately finding what had distracted me.

He looked . . . amazingly handsome. His hair was the blackest black I'd ever seen. His eyes were so black, they were almost frightening. Like sharks' eyes, but blacker than that. Sharp, high cheekbones, angular chin, square jaw. Red, ridiculously feminine lips quirked up in a smirk that said he knew exactly what he looked like that that every girl in the vicinity was staring at him.

A dark, dark blue shirt covered broad shoulders. A shirt I knew instantly. I'd designed it. This dark blue shirt did not have a high collar, nor did it tie shut. No, the V-neck went cut down to lower abdomen, but the black vest designed to fit over it so the V-neck could be pulled through the higher-cut V-neck of the vest made it only expose a small triangle of his chest. Black silk pants were tucked into boots that were not my design, but set off the outfit anyway. Thigh-high, leather, they looked like they belonged to the outfit.

His hands were gloved in black leather and around his shoulders, he wore a black, thick leather cloak with a high, stiff collar-the kinds you would see in a movie where someone from the 18th century goes to the opera. Floor-length, thick, leather. It moved with that sound only really good, real leather makes. It was tied at his throat with a thin leather string. The long, flowing sleeves of the shirt hid the gloves unless, of course, you knew what to look for. Since I designed the outfit (parts of it,) I knew what to look for.

Overall, though only half the outfit was actually my design, it made my design stand out. He alone would make others want to purchase my designs, especially this outfit. He made it look amazing. That thick, black hair fell over the collar of that cloak. He really sold the outfit.

His strides were long, confident and predatory as he walked toward me. I half expected him to turn away and go the other way, but he closed in on me.

I stood, frozen in spot. Like a rabbit in headlights. _Turn, turn, turn, _I thought.

Without even breaking his stride, he took my hand into his and pulled me easily, effortlessly into dance. My hand captured in his, my other hand placed at his shoulder and the left front half of my body was placed at the left side of his body, he led the dance as though he'd done it several thousand times before. His eyes met mine. His voice, husky, low, a rich bass, came from between his lips and mine. "Starlight, correct?"

"How do you know my name?"

"Maybe I'm a customer."

"That wouldn't mean you'd know my name, not unless you've taken my classes and I know you haven't."

"Ah, yes, your little sword business."

"Who are you?"

He spun me, out and away, the way it was meant to be done. Once I was nestled against his body, he fell silent. The look on his face kept me from asking further questions. He led the dance swiftly and perfectly, with the grace of someone who isn't human. He glided over the floor, seeming to be perfectly at ease.

And that was how I knew he wasn't human. The trepidation rose in me as I looked up to meet those black, black eyes. "_What _are you?" I asked, altering my previous question.

That made him smirk down at me. "Ah, what am I . . . what an interesting question. Nevertheless, the real puzzle is, what are you? You're not what I was told you are and I don't like being lied to."

I stiffened. "What are you talking about?"

"Who have you pissed off, little Starlight?"

I scoffed. "Who _haven't _I pissed off, you mean."

He leant down very close to whisper, "You make it a daily thing to piss off someone enough to hire an assassin?" against my ear.

I froze, but he pulled me with him in the dance. "What are you doing here? What do you want?"

"I have yet to decide. Make up my mind by answering my questions."

"What questions?"

"Not now, not here. After this little party is over."

"This isn't a party. Where and when will we meet?"

"We won't _'meet.' _I'll be here until my patience wears out or this thing is over. Whichever comes first."

I narrowed eyes at him. "And then?"

"And then we'll see."

"We'll see what?" Eiiannae's voice caught my attention. I turned my head to the side to see him just a foot or so from us. His brows were furrowed in a quizzical way. "What's going on?"

"Eiiannae, this is. . . ."

"Mark," he said, letting me free and offering a hand to Eiiannae with a grin that didn't seem to fit him. In an instant, he'd changed from whatever he'd been to something-some_one _else. "Hi. You must be Eiiannae, the co-owner of the weapon shop. We're discussing business. You might be seeing me in the classes, but, as I said, we'll see." He offered another sincere-or, not so sincere-smile as though the lie he'd just said wasn't a lie. "I've got to talk it over with the missus and she's got me on quite a leash." He had an accent now. A western, cowboy accent. What the hell?

Eiiannae nodded. "Yea, you'd be shocked how many of our customers say the same thing."

"Yup, I bet. It's tough, of course, but it's worth it."

It was somewhat unnerving to see how easily he went from one personality to the exact opposite. I doubted anyone had a leash on him, particularly not a wife or any woman. I fought the urge to glance up at him and kept my eyes on Eiiannae. "Yea, lots of guys seem to be whipped by their women," I said, deliberately trying to provoke "Mark." I knew that wasn't his name.

"Boy, ain't it the truth!" he laughingly said.

Damn. Eiiannae shot me a glance. "You okay?"

I nodded. "Yea, but I have to go out and mingle. I've wasted too much time talking business." I smiled-it felt fake-and ambled off. Again, weaving in and out of people, complimenting, tipping, chatting for a second or two, and moving on.

A hand grabbed my shoulder. I looked back. Tall, blond, blue-eyed. Ugh. Lovely. Except for _tall, _this man was everything I found unattractive in a man. Blonde, blue-eyed and classically handsome, like Prince Charming. Ugh. Hold the prince, shoot the charming. _Please. _"Tell, me, sweetheart, how did you come up with the idea for a weapon shop? Did your boyfriend give you the idea and remain your invisible partner?"

"What?"

"Such a small girl, running a weapons shop. Weapons are a man's job, not a woman's. I sure am glad to see you switching from silly knives to clothing design."

I stiffened. "I'm not switching," I said stiffly. "I'll be doing both."

"Now, come on, sweetheart. Leave the weapons to the men. It's where they belong. Weapons aren't for women."

"But clothes and cooking are?" I asked, heavy on sarcasm. Hold the prince, shoot the charming and pile on the sarcasm, please.

"And childcare, of course." He smiled amiably, evidently unaware of my death glare. Idiot. "A woman is a frail creature. They need to be kept away from things that'll hurt them, like weapons."

"I can protect myself," I grated out.

"Oh, it's so cute that you think that." He had dimples. Blonde, blue-eyed, dimpled and chauvinistic. Huh. Upgraded from not my type to "_Red Alert! GET AWAY BEFORE I KILL YOU!" _Not smart of him to keep talking. "But it is a man's job to protect the womenfolk."

"Look, mister-"

"Jake."

"Whatever. Look, idiot, I can take care of myself. I'm better at protecting myself than most _men _are." Someone bumped into my, nudging me away from Jake. An arm around my waist was the only thing that kept me from falling.

"Oh, hun, I'm so sorry." Black eyes met mine, a hidden amusement within them. "Well, well, Star. Reckon I'd bump into you again." Those black eyes switched to Dimpleboy. "This here girl is the toughest girl I've known. She handles a sword better than anyone I know. Ain't that just the thing? A girl handling a sword better than the men folk around her? Sure makes it tough to be her guy." He looked over my head. "Oh, Johnny waves." He left.

I was so going to kick him. You know the saying "where the sun doesn't shine?" Well, the sun may never shine there, but it's certainly about to shine _through _there.

Dimpleboy scoffed. "What a child. He's no older than you. Such a big boy should act like a man, but what can be expected of an oriental boy." It was _not _a question. "They're just as frail as women."

"Um, that oriental boy is probably a foot taller than you are." Racist, sexist and chauvinistic. Perfect qualities, hm?

"But he's just as weak as you are." He shrugged. "That's to be expected of an oriental. Looks like a Jap. So sensitive, those ones are. Men are strong, not sensitive."

"Oh, _please._" I walked away from him. "I've got work."

"A woman doesn't belong in the weapon world. Your future husband will forbid you from doing it once you're married, so just quit now. It's so much easier. Your husband knows what's best for you."

Grrr. I walked away, clenching my fists.

Men are strong, women weak? _Really? _

Huh. Couldn't prove it by me.

Colorful dreams passed through my head, dreams as beautiful as they were terribly confusing. Halfway through the dreams, I felt as though I was floating. Like someone was moving me. I mumbled something incoherent and was asleep right after I was put on something soft and something warm was flung over me.

A field of many trees, long grass, flowers. I ran through that field, ran toward something, something I could see over the trees. Golden, tall, but I couldn't tell what it was. Couldn't see what it was. Can't see it. Where was I?

I wore a long, white dress, ending just above my ankles. Inch-thick straps, the dress clung to my breasts, but fell loose around the rest of my body. Bare feet passed soundlessly over the ground, as though everything was muted. I ran faster, my loose, silver hair flying in the wind. In my wind. _"Run," _someone whispered, "_run, run to the tree. Run._" It was the _wind _talking to me.

Which tree? I stopped running and gazed at each tree in turn. What tree was I meant to run to? Which one?

"_The Sacred Tree . . . Run . . . Find it . . . Run before they come. Run, Princess, run!" _It screamed at me. _"Princess, run! They've come! Run!" _

I ran. The beautiful field around me changed as I ran through it. Folded away to blackness. Dark, evil, this place was. Terror seized me and I ran blindly, feeling out my way with outstretched hands. The tree, had to find the tree.

"_Find the tree . . . she'll protect you . . . your choice . . . make your choice . . . run, Princess. . . ." _Every sentence was fragmented, being overlapped by another sound, another sentence, until I felt overwhelmed. Couldn't breathe.

"_Wake up, Princess!" _the wind whispered fiercely. _"Now!"_

Darkness. No light. I was in a bed now, which told me I was awake. I think. I rolled over to my side. My chest lightly touched something hard. I reached a hand out and it over the wall-it had hair.

It groaned. "Go back to sleep, dammit."

I choked on a scream, rolled away and fumbled for the lamp. Light flared. When my eyes adjusted, I saw he had rolled onto his back and was scowling at me. The covers dipped to his waist, showing off a black, snug tee. Messy hair fell into those black eyes. "Y-you?" I gasped.

He growled and sat up, reaching over me to switch the light off. I waited for him to move, but he stayed in place. "Go to sleep. And stop rolling all over the damn place."

"I-I had a dream. . . . I usually don't move in my-wait!" I glared in the general vicinity of his face. "I don't want to sleep with you."

"You're not sleeping with me. You're sleeping." His tone said he'd intentionally mistaken my words.

"You know what I meant!"

"Well, I'm not sleeping anywhere else. I paid for this damn room. I'm sleeping in the bed."

"I'm not telling you to move. I'm telling you I'm going home." I pushed off the blankets.

Before I could stand, he said, "At three in the morning in a lacy, silk nightgown? In this neighborhood? Hell, you'd be raped and left in a ditch in five minutes."

I froze, thinking.

The moment I sighed, he flipped the blankets back onto me. "Good. Argument is closed." He rolled away and I heard him settling down into the bed. "Now shut the hell up and go to sleep."

"But I-"

"Look, if I was going to rape or kill you, I would've done it by now. That nightgown is flimsy, thin and very easily ripped. Now shut up and sleep before I gag and tie you." His voice was a low, grating growl.

I lay back down, turning my back on him. Closing my eyes and relaxing was nearly impossible because I was obscenely aware of his presence. "I don't even know your real name. . . ."

He growled. "Dammit. If it'll shut you up, my name is Zaien."

"Okay, Zaien."

"Sleep or I'll knock you out."

I bit my lip to keep quiet, but it wasn't easy. I didn't want to sleep. I didn't want to be in a bed with someone I didn't know. How could he be so perfectly at ease with all of this? Sleeping in a bed with a complete stranger. Or course _he _wasn't worried. Bastard couldn't waken me up when he got back. I could've gone home then, but no. He just let me sleep.

Wait. I fell asleep on the chair waiting for him. How the hell did I get to the bed? Dammit, he moved me! He fucking moved me! Instead of waking me up and sending me home, he moved me from the chair to the bed.

I opened my mouth to tell him that, but in that same instant, a hand pressed to my mouth, a chest to my back and an arm moved under my waist as he pulled me tight against him. Panic rose in me. He growled against my ear, "Stop talking. If you're too damn stubborn to sleep on your own, just sit tight. Turn around."

I shook my head.

"Turn around or I'll turn you around. I guarantee you won't like the method I use."

I turned, slowly, in the circle of his arms. Now my mouth wasn't trapped against his hand. "Why didn't you wake me up when you got back? Why move me to the bed?"

"In hopes you'd fucking sleep." I think his eyes met mine, but it was too dark to see. Darkness sucked at me, blackness ate my vision, and he pulled me deeper, deeper, until that darkness was all that remained.

And I slept. Deeper than I'd ever slept before. No dreams now. Just darkness.

I woke, if waking is the right term, slowly. At first, I thought I was alone and I couldn't remember where I was, but then my eyes opened and I could see the hotel room. And the back of the man. Sleep-tousled black hair, black tee, the tops of black bottom and the blanket, so white against the black clothes.

His body had a tenseness to it that told me he was awake. He stretched out long legs, moving onto his back to reach his arms above his head, lightly touching the headboard.

I glared at him, memory fully returned. "You put me to sleep, didn't you, you bastard?"

"It was the only way to get you to shut up." Didn't even bother to deny it.

"Yea, so just put me to sleep. If you had left me on the chair or woken me up to go home, you wouldn't have had to worry about it."

"You would've rolled right off the chair, the way you were tossing and turning. That would've woken you."

"You don't know that. And what about letting me go home?"

"I didn't get back until late. And it was too much work. Wake you up only to have to find you in the morning. Too much trouble. Wasn't worth it."

"Oh, so you didn't want to search for me so you could kill me," I snapped.

"No, I'm not going to harm you. Yet. I am waiting for the results on your locket."

My hand came up to touch the place my necklace usually rested. "M-my necklace. . . ." My voice was soft, uncertain.

"Shall be returned to you before dusk."

I still glared at him. "And me? Might I return home today?"

"Star . . ." he said slowly, "no. You will not return home today. I don't know when you will go home, or if you ever will. Tell me, do you even know where _home _is for you?"

"Yes, of course!"

"No, you don't. You don't know your father, your mother, you family, nor do you know your home or your species. I will allow you to live for reasons of my own. Until some time has passed and I have found out what your necklace means. Once I have, then all I have left to do is decide whether or not you live or die." He gave me a steadying look. "Until then, you stay with me."

I jumped off the bed. "Ah, _hell _no! I've got work to do and I most certainly will _not _sleep with you again."

He laughed. "You really think you've got a choice. Let me simplify things here. You don't make this choice. I do. And the choice is you stay with me, willingly or not, until I decide what to do with you. Then you may go, if you're alive."

I glared harder. "I will not sleep with you again."

He leant toward me, pulling me down with his hand fisted in the nightgown, even while I fought to stay away. When we were excessively close, and his mouth was against my ear, he said, "You will do whatever I tell you. If I tell you to move, you will move. If I tell you to sleep, you will sleep. If I tell you to do anything, you _will _do it."

"Make me," I growled.

"I will." He let me go.

I stumbled back, hit the wall. Slid to the ground. "You think you will."

"I _know _I will. Now get up. We have work. I brought you clothes. Get changed, take a shower. We have someplace to go."

I crossed my arms, scowling. If he thought I would be nice and obedient, he was dead wrong.

He jumped to his feet, stalked, not strolled, stalked to the bathroom. I heard water running and he came back out, bent and grabbed my arms to pull me to my feet.

"Let go!" I hissed, trying to pull away from his grasp on my arms.

He dragged me to the bathroom, kicked the door shut behind him, let me go. Crossed his arms and stared me down. "You have two choices. Take the nightgown off willingly or I'll take it off for you."

I glanced over to see the steam shower on. "Not while you're in here.

"If I get out, you will lock the damn door and I'll be forced to break it down. So take the damn nightgown off, take your shower and get dressed. Do it fast, I'll be able to take my own shower. Be slow, I'll have to join you."

I crossed my arms.

"Okay, look, let's get this over with. You want to do this the hard way, fine. If you're afraid I'm going to rape you, let me assure you that nightgown is _supposed _to be sexy and it's thin as paper. Since I haven't even touched you, doesn't that tell you that you are lacking a certain something that sets off the nightgown? You are a twig. Looking at you is like looking at another boy. You have no hips, no breasts, no color. Hell, it's like looking at a snow-boy. Just take the damn nightgown off or I'll rip the fucking thing off."

I glared at him, feeling my face and eyes burn. "You're an ass," I spat. Great. I already had a body image issue. Now I just found out I look like a snow-boy. Not even a girl. Well, fine. I turned my back on him, slipped the nightgown off and pushed the panties down. Not turning to look at him, partially because of the tears in my eyes and partially because now I felt horrible, I opened the shower door and stepped inside. With the water adjusted as hot as it could go, I felt slightly better.

At least now it didn't look like I was crying.

I was red by the time I got out. Five minutes, at most, so my eyes were still puffy, but it looked like it was from the shower. Keeping my back to him at all times, I got out and got dressed and left the bathroom, waited for him to take his shower. The clothes he got me weren't something I was likely to wear, so I pulled my cellular phone out and dialed Eiiannae. He came up in minutes with the clothes I'd asked him to bring.

And my travel bag. I smiled and hugged him for that. My travel bag had several weapons, all designed by me, that I needed. But they were mostly comfort items for me, not real weapons. More like stuffed animals. I was armed and dressed by the time he got out of the shower. I wore an oversized sweater, baggy pants, combat boots and panties.

He, however, looked like the G.Q. poster boy. Wet, messy black hair gleamed, black eyes slit open just enough to see, broad shoulders under a snug, black tee, lean hips highlighted in tight(ish) black jeans. Long legs, bare feet.

That really helped my self-image. Great. I scoffed.

He grabbed my arm and lifted me to my feet. "Grab your bag, put the clothes I got you in it and let's get out of here."

"I got my own clothes in there."

"You're going to need those clothes. Get them."

I slapped him, hard enough that it turned his head to the side and left a red mark. "You want to do this the hard way, fine," I threw his own words back at him, "but let's get this over with. _I _will decide what I wear. _I _will decide what I do. I did not work for eighteen years to be rid of the parasitic leeches that call themselves my parents and to be on my own just to go _right back in _to being forced to do things that I don't want to do.

"Do you understand that? Since I was a year old, even younger than that, people have forced me into doing things that hurt me." I pushed him, hands flat on his shoulders, hard enough he stepped back. "So you listen to me and you listen well. I have finally gotten control of my life, my body and my clothes. It took me years to get that control. Now I will not let you, or anyone, take my choices away from me. I will see you dead before that happens. This is _my _life, _my _body and _my _choice. I will wear, eat, sleep, and do as I please, when I please, how I please. Can you understand me? Or do I need smaller words and a chisel?"

He watched me, one brow arched, and I waited for him to reply. "Oh. You're done. Hm. Let me explain something to you. Whether you like it or not, your life belongs to me now. You can fight, yell and deny it, but your life ends when I say it does. Or it may continue, if you're a good little girl and listen to me. I-"

"Oh, so _now _I'm a girl? Huh. Earlier I was a snow-boy. Glad to know I've been upgraded," I retorted.

"It's not an upgrade. Girls, like boys, are weak and still have the figures of boys. You just get the unfortunate luck to be as colorless as snow. Now shut up and listen."

I punched him this time. He stumbled and I kneed him, hitting his ground. A groan said I hit my mark. "No, you will _not _tell me what to do. I will not let you do that!" I stepped around him.

He grabbed the back of my sweater and pulled my back. "You are not going anywhere without me." His other arm curled around my waist and he straightened, taking my feet off the ground, his body against my back.

I struggled, kicking backward, hitting his shin. He dropped me, arm still around my waist. I shoved my elbow back into his solar plexus, stomped his foot, elbowed his upper chest, almost throat-I was aiming for his nose-and brought the side of my hand down, fast, hard, into his groin. When he groaned, I gripped his arm with one hand, his shirt collar with the other, leant back slightly and threw him.

He flipped in mid-air and landed on his feet, facing me. "Is that all?"

I growled, reached under my sleeve and threw my throwing kunai at him.

He caught it. "Are you done yet?"

"You-I-God! Just _kill _me already! It'll be better than taking orders! Just fucking end it! The way my life goes, I'll never be my own boss anyway, so might as well get it over with. I won't even fight you. Fuck fighting for a control I'll never have. Just end it. Come on! Are you man enough to do it? You probably sold my necklace. I've nothing left to fight for! No control, no family, no home. Just fucking do it."

He watched me, eyes widened just slightly. "I did not sell your necklace." His voice was softer.

"Okay, sure." I growled and stomped back to the bathroom. Before slamming the door, I turned back to look at him, saying, "You've made it clear I'm not attractive or even slightly feminine, so sex or rape is out. You've taken my necklace, so I've got nothing valuable on me. So tell me, what use am I? What have I got left?" I slammed the door, locked it, turned to lean my back against it and sank to the floor, knees against my chest. I covered my eyes with my hands.

I will not cry. I will _not _cry.

A soft knock. "Star, we have work."

Work. That's right. I was nothing but work. He'd been paid to kill me. Prickling behind my eyes warned me of the tears before they fell. I didn't fight. So that made twice today that I'd cried. I had long ago mastered the art of crying silently, so except for a quick gasp, it was silent.

Including the guy on the other side of the door. What a shock. The first time he'd been silent all day.

Silence didn't last long. He knocked again. "Let me in."

"Fuck you."

"Star, just let me in."

"Go away."

"I could just break the door. Or unlock it. I have the key. But I'm asking you to let me in."

"Oh, how nice of you." I made sure sarcasm dripped from my words. "Too much work to unlock it yourself? Or break it down?"

"I'm asking you to unlock the door. I'll open it myself. Just reach up and unlock the door."

"Fuck off."

He made a small sound, almost a growl. "I'm making an effort to give you choices. You won't meet me halfway?"

"You're giving me a choice? Sounded more like an order to me." I laughed once, bitterly. "Besides, a choice is letting me decide whether I'll let you in or not. I've made that choice."

"Fine. I'm giving you the illusion of choices. I'm coming in either way. Just unlock the door. Meet me halfway. Or I won't be inclined to give you choices again."

"_What _choices?" I scoffed. "Between being humiliated and being forced to do something I'd rather die than do?" I wiped my eyes, growling.

"What's so bad about letting me in? Do you have to be in control over everything?"

"Obviously not, or I'd have control over my life. I could ask _you _the same question."

"I can see your shadow. I know you're still right on the other side of the door. You're still dressed. You haven't moved at all. Why not let me in?"

"I don't want to."

He sighed. "Star, let me in."

"I don't want to."

"Just let me in."

"Why should I?"

"Because I'm trying to make an effort. Meet me halfway."

"Fuck you."

"Dammit! Look, if you don't meet me halfway in this, I won't make a second effort. You want choices? Great. Show me you can handle choices and let me in."

"Why? Why the hell should I? Why? Give me one good reason!"

"I just did. I'll give you choices, but first show me you can handle them. Show me I can trust you with choices and I'll show you that you can trust me."

"Fuck you." But now my anger was lessening. The only thing that kept me from opening the door was that I didn't want him to see me cry.

"Let me in. Don't ruin your only chance at choices."

"If I get choices, where are they? _What _are they?"

"I can hear the tears in your voice. Smell them. Just let me in."

Now I burrowed my face in my hands. "No."

"Star . . . please let me in. This is your last chance to meet me halfway. Then I come in anyway and all choices and niceties are gone."

I heard the finality in his voice. I wiped my eye again, stood up and went to the sink, put my hands under the cold water and scrubbed my face.

"Star-"

"Shut up! I'm not letting you in! I'm coming out." Dry-eyed, a little puffy redness, but not bad, if I covered my face with my hair, an old habit I'd thought I'd outgrown. I arranged my hair, went back to the door and unlocked it. One deep breath and headshake later, I focused my eyes on the floor, opened the door and shoved past him. Hard. I grabbed my bag, went to the front door. "Let's go."

He walked passed me to open the door. Silent, he left and I followed him. The elevator was silent. The lobby was silent. I followed him, hands lost in my sleeves and eyes on his heels. After tripping over the hem of my pants, I trained my eyes on my own feet. He stopped and I nearly ran into him. He turned and I backed away. By this time, we were out on the street. "Why are you staring at the ground? Last night, you were . . . confident. Now you didn't even notice I'd stopped."

"I'll pay more attention," I growled, pushing passed him. "Let's go."

Now he followed me. For a short while. Then he grabbed my arm and pulled me into a restaurant. "Sit," he said, directing me to a table with two chairs.

I chose the corner seat. He sat across from me. Great.

He reached across the table and started to push my hair behind my ear.

I slapped his hand away, shook my hair back into place. "Don't touch me."

"How can you see anything like that?" He reached across again.

I scooted my chair back, away from his hand. "Don't touch me."

"Fine." He sat back, crossing his arms.

"Why are we here?"

"You need to eat."

"Oh, so now you control my appetite?"

"Star, you haven't eaten since the day before yesterday. I've been watching."

"So now you're a stalker, too? Oh, how romantic. I'm not hungry." I stood.

He grabbed my arm. "Come on, sweetheart," he said sweetly, "you need to eat." His eyes didn't match his words or tone. They were warning me. _Don't make a scene, _they said.

I smiled back. I could feel that it was my evil smile. If I had any doubts about that smile, his eyes went from warning to wary. "Do you ant to order for me? I'd like to make an unaccompanied visit to the ladies' restroom." Not waiting for a reply, I snatched my arm away and walked quickly to the bathroom. There was one window, up high. I reached up, on tiptoe, hooked my fingers around the sill and-

The door opened. I dropped to my feet, but it was just a woman. She _tsked _at me. "Oh, honey, are you going to leave that you man by himself? That's not nice. Go back to him, the dear. He's worried about you. Says you haven't been eating right lately and he's sorry about the little fight you two had. Come on, that man is sexy. How often does a girl get a guy like him? Especially a girl like-" She stopped, smiled. "He's gorgeous. What more could you want?"

I heard her unspoken words. _Come on. A girl like you couldn't get a chance at any other guy, especially not a guy like him. _

I smiled sweetly. "Yea, you know, you're right. I'll . . . I'll be out. I just need a moment. Would you go out and tell him that I'm sorry, too? And that I'll be out in a minute."

She smiled and went back out.

_Stupid bitch. _I pulled myself out the widow. _A girl like me, huh? _I ran to the nearest store, seething. _A girl like me. _I found a box of blond hair-dye, blue contacts and paid for them with the money in my pocket. I ran to a motel, paid for a room and went to it.

_A girl like me._

By the time I'd gone out again and returned to the motel room, I was out of money and Zaien was waiting for me, lounging on the bed. I swung the door shut and glared through the golden hair. "What are you doing here?"

"You know I'm not leaving you."

"Well, I paid for this room and though it may not be as grand as yours, it's mine. Get out."

"I don't think so. I told the owner that we were leaving. I also told him that this room was dissatisfactory and he gave you a refund, after a little persuasion."

"Then where's my money?"

"I'm holding onto it for now."

I looked around. He had my travel bag on his lap. I growled. "Where are we going now?"

He stood and grabbed my arm. "You need to eat. We're-"

I growled and yanked away from him. "No! I am not hungry." I scowled up at him. "You do not get to force me to eat. I am not hungry. Got it? Not. Hungry."

"Why do you have to fight _everything? _Just eat something."

"I. Am. Not. Hungry."

He growled. "Dammit. You haven't eaten in two days. Eat something and this argument is over."

"I drink blood, Zaien. Blood satisfies me for days. I'm not hungry."

"You haven't drunk blood for four days. Try again."

"I'm not hungry! Damn you, damn the person who got you involved in my life, damn everyone." I walked away from him angrily, out of the motel room. "Just go away and leave me alone."

He kept pace with me easily. "Why did you change your hair color?"

"Because I wanted to."

"And you're wearing make-up. Tan coloring, peach lipstick." Before I could react, he ran finger across my lower lip. "No, not lipstick."

I stopped and slapped him. "Don't touch me. Ever. Don't ever, ever, ever touch me."

His eyes narrowed. "Fine. So you put make-up on, dulled your lip color somehow and changed your hair color."

"My lips may be peach. I could've been wearing lipstick."

"No, your lips are crimson. It's your natural color."

"Oh, just this morning, I was colorless. Remember?" I went on without waiting for his reply. "Can't have it both ways, now can we?" I whirled and left him standing there, walking as fast as I could.

He kept pace with me again. "Not going to tell me why?"

"It's none of your business."

He stepped in front of me, studied my eyes. "And contacts. Hiding from me?"

I walked around him. "Something like that."

"Should've changed your clothes, then."

"How could I have? You had my travel bag and what money I had went to changing my physical appearance."

He grabbed my arm. "Would it make you more . . . agreeable . . . to know I got your locket back and found something out about you?"

"No. Keep it. I don't need it anymore." That wasn't a lie. I didn't _need _it. Nevertheless, I did _want _it. Badly. But I refused to let him know that he held my life with that necklace.

He held my necklace out. "Here."

"I don't want it," I lied.

Ignoring me, he slipped it around my neck, fastening it. "Stop being so damn stubborn. Just admit that you want it."

I almost touched it. Almost. But I stopped myself. "I'll admit I want it when you leave me alone."

"That's not going to happen." He looked around. "Come on, it's getting late. We've got to get moving."

"Where are we going?"

"Since you're too damn stubborn to eat any damned thing, we're getting out of town. I'm taking you to my house."

"Oh, yippee. Jump for joy. Clap hands," I said dryly.

A small, tiny, nearly unperceivable smile. "Try to contain your excitement."


End file.
